


A Simple Negotiation

by Asher_Ephraim



Series: The Way It Goes [2]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Face-Fucking, Facials, Humiliation, M/M, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Office Blow Jobs, Podfic Available, Power Imbalance, Rough Oral Sex, Sexual Coercion, Video Cameras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:59:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22992067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asher_Ephraim/pseuds/Asher_Ephraim
Summary: Captain Opan is interviewing candidates for theFinalizer's bridge team, and today is Ensign Mitaka's turn. Each man has something to offer the other.A companion piece to "An Easy Target", this is written from Opan's POV.
Relationships: Dopheld Mitaka/Tritt Opan
Series: The Way It Goes [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2040222
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	A Simple Negotiation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Deadsy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deadsy/gifts).



> Please heed the warning and tags. Tritt Opan is predatory and both his mindset and behaviour are utterly reprehensible.
> 
> The existence of this fic is deadsy's fault, although I am solely to blame for its content.

Thirty minutes before their scheduled meeting is due to start, Captain Tritt Opan brings up the next candidate’s profile with an undeniable sense of anticipation.

_Ensign Dopheld Mitaka._

_DOB: 13 ABY. Birthplace: Lothal. Sex: Male. Height: 180 cm. Weight: 72 kg. Hair: Dark brown. Eyes: Brown._

He scrolls past the commendations, the excellent marks, the annual fitness reviews. He combed through it all thoroughly last week, and his memory for these details is unfailing. Bringing up the ensign’s current identification head-shot, he moves the picture to the top right of his screen. After clicking through a few links to Mitaka’s time at Arkanis, he locates the young man’s graduation portrait and places it just below the other image.

Opan sits back and smiles at his tablet. There’s no doubting that Mitaka is downright pretty, with his dark eyes and the serious set of his lips. But there’s more to it than simple physical attraction. For one, the deference Mitaka shows authority borders on reverence. Opan can work with this.

He’s seen boys like Mitaka before: eager to please, longing for recognition. Rarely are they as attractive as this one, though. 

Also, Mitaka is twenty. It’s the perfect age, as far as Opan is concerned. Old enough for no one to consider him a child, experienced enough to not be useless but not so much as to have developed any bad habits or strong preferences. The only preferences that Opan cares about are whether Mitaka likes men—yes—and if he bottoms—highly likely. (Opan’s own preferences are much more particular, but he’s nearly fifty and has earned a right to be particular.)

He gleaned reliable evidence of Mitaka’s homosexuality from his detailed service records. Back at Arkanis, campus security had thrice stumbled across him blowing a classmate (a different one each time). There are no indications of sexual or romantic interest in women, and this serves Opan well.

It’s always easier to convince a young man to do something he already wants.

**. . .**

Fifteen minutes into the interview, Opan decides it’s time to shift tack. “Well,” he begins, leaning back into his chair and folding his hands over his lap. “Show me how much you want this.”

Mitaka opens his mouth, but the captain cuts him off.

“No, don’t give me a prepared speech. I’m looking for something else.”

The ensign’s jaw shuts with a clack of teeth. He knows better than to interrupt a superior.

“I’d like you to get on your knees.”

In a show of panic, Mitaka glances furtively to the right and left. “Sir—”

Opan crosses his arms and gives a casual shrug. “Do you know how many names are on the list of candidates for this single opening?”

The pretty thing shakes his head. “No, sir,” he mumbles, sounding even younger all of a sudden.

“Sixty-two have submitted their names from across the fleet. And you’re not the only one among them who graduated first in class with commendations.”

“Oh, I see, sir.”

“I’m simply asking if you’re willing to negotiate for a significant boost to your chances.” He leans confidentially over the desk. “Because I have a feeling you want this posting very badly, and because I could also use some… satisfaction.” Sitting back abruptly, he gives Mitaka a smile. “It’s your choice, Ensign.”

He watches Mitaka’s face as he does the mental math. Sixty-two candidates. Of course plenty of them have zero shot at the position. There are in fact five decent candidates among them, and it turns out that Mitaka is already a clear front-runner. But the ensign doesn’t know that.

What he _does_ know is that he has a decision to make, and quickly.

“Is there anything else—”

“No, Ensign. But you are free to leave if—” Opan waves his hand in the air. The meaning is clear. _If you don_ _’t really want this._

“I’ll do it, sir.” He removes his cap and rises from his chair. “Um. Do you want me to come over there, or?” He doesn’t finish the question. His face is flushed, his words shaky.

“Yes.” Open unbuckles his belt and unfastens his zip. “Kneel by my feet.”

Once in position, Mitaka keeps his eyes fixed on the floor. The captain reaches down to cup a palm under his chin and tilt his face up. At last the ensign looks up at him and his expression is heartbreaking: pleading, shamed, hopeful. Opan’s already half-hard from it.

“Good choice, Mitaka,” he murmurs encouragingly. One has to be gentle at first, otherwise a boy might shut down entirely. With his free hand, he reaches into his trousers and pulls his cock through the fly. “Go on and put your mouth on me.”

Mitaka shuts his eyes and nods. “Yes, sir.”

Those are Opan’s favourite words to hear from a young man in this position. Obeisance, respect, assent. He watches on from above as Mitaka leans forward and lightly touches his lips to the head. The captain sighs quietly, just a hint of the approval he could give. If Mitaka does this right.

Slowly, the ensign warms to the task. He even removes his gloves and uses a bare hand to stroke the shaft in time with the movement of his lips. It’s decent head, to be sure, but it isn’t the sort Opan is looking for. (It doesn’t match his preferences, such as they are.)

“Can you take it all down?” he asks. People like Mitaka thrill to a solid challenge, and while Opan’s seven point five inches are hardly intimidating, he doubts this particular man has much practise deep-throating at all.

“I—I don’t know, sir,” Mitaka stammers shyly.

“Try.”

He does, and struggles nobly at it. Watching Mitaka choke himself—willingly, too—causes Opan’s balls to twitch. It’s endearingly pathetic how little he can fit into his mouth without coughing. There’s spittle on his lips and chin already.

“You’re going to need some guidance, I see. Here,” he says, not giving Mitaka a chance to agree to (or decline) his offer. His hand comes to rest on the back of the ensign’s head and immediately begins to pull him in closer. Closer. Closer.

Mitaka gags loudly, letting out a strangled gurgle as his whole torso spasms.

“Open your fucking throat or I’ll do it for you,” he growls. Mitaka stiffens at the threat, freezing entirely for a moment before his shoulders slump in resignation. The ensign’s throat relaxes and Opan’s dick slides a further inch past his lips. “There, that’s better.” He grabs a handful of hair at the crown of Mitaka’s head and shoves him all the way down. It’s time to use a stronger hand with the boy.

Fuck. It’s everything he needs. A pretty junior officer gagging on his cock, drooling directly onto his balls. If he wanted to, he could come quite soon.

But he wants to enjoy this as long as possible and has nowhere to be for another hour.

After only four or five seconds, Mitaka’s shoulders twitch and he tries to pull back. He isn’t used to this; he hasn’t been trained. (Opan could train him.) “Don’t you move a bloody inch, Ensign,” he orders. “I’ll let you breathe soon enough.” Right now, he just needs to savour the way the boy’s throat is clenching around his girth.

Struck with the sudden compulsion to lift the ensign up, pull his trousers down, and shove him forward over the desk, Opan forces himself to resist. He won’t fuck Mitaka, not today. He’ll wait to see just how grateful the young man will be once he has his coveted posting.

Mitaka might even come back all on his own to thank him. Once a pattern is set, it can be nigh-on unavoidable.

A spluttering sound pulls him from his reverie. Glancing down, he sees tears leaking from the corners of Mitaka’s eyes. Vulnerability is a good look for him.

“Quit struggling. No use pretending you haven’t done this before,” he reminds him, thinking back on the notes in the ensign’s profile. But perhaps he hasn’t had much recent practise. “Let me use that wet hole.” He’ll bang Mitaka’s throat raw if that’s what it takes to get off. Maker knows he isn’t averse to leaving bruises.

And so he starts in on the active portion: enjoying the living hell out of Mitaka’s pretty, young face. It’s surely his first skull-fuck, and there’s nothing like being the first man to truly take advantage of a sweet mouth like this. While Mitaka’s fingertips dig into Opan’s thighs, the captain wonders how tight his arsehole must be, imagines the boy would need five minutes, three patient fingers, and plenty of lube to prep. He doesn’t have the time for it now, but he hopes one day he’ll dick the ensign down right on this desk. Send him back to his precious bridge post with a fresh load deep in his guts.

Gazing down at the boy on his knees before him, Opan whispers, “Fuck, yes, you little slut.”

Mitaka whines and snot bubbles from his nostrils. He’s even sweeter when he’s wrecked.

“You are, though,” Opan can’t help but point out as he twists tufts of dark hair between his leather-clad fingers. “A cheap fucking whore, trading favours for a shot at the bridge. If that isn’t prostitution, I don’t know what is.”

The boy whimpers in Opan’s grip, but he’s given up fighting it. His palms are laid flat on the floor with fingers splayed out, braced for support. His surrender has been a gradual process, but Opan enjoyed every step of the way.

“Don’t worry, you’re a pretty little whore. And luckily I like my boys a bit desperate.” He groans, letting Mitaka know how good this is for him. The boy has served his purpose well. “Not much longer now, Mitaka. You’ll have what you want and so will I.”

Mitaka sighs, and the meaning behind it is ambiguous but Opan doesn’t have the bandwidth to parse it. The ensign could be relieved their deal is nearly concluded, perhaps he’s enjoying Opan’s praise, or maybe he even likes the dirty talk. None of that matters, because the only thing Opan cares about is that he’s about to come. (If it turns the ensign on, he can wank off later, once his shift is over.)

“Sit back and close your eyes—but keep your mouth open. Let’s paint that pretty fucking face.” He stands from his chair, taking a moment to admire the impressive wet patch of drool across the crotch of his uniform pants. He’ll need to change into another pair before his next meeting, but that’s a small price to pay for Mitaka’s show of dedication. He steps to the side and Mitaka turns with him. The angling will be perfect. Opan had disabled the local security surveillance for this interview, but the private feed from the camera hidden on his desk is fully functional. It ought to capture a good clip of the money shot, and that should provide him with a solid bit of wanking material in the future. “Are you ready for this, Ensign?” he inquires, grabbing hold of his spit-drenched cock.

Mitaka nods slightly, appearing more than a bit dazed. Opan wonders if he drilled some of the ensign’s brain cells into a coma.

“I asked you a question, sailor.” The sound of his fist pumping along his length is obscenely loud in the otherwise silent room.

“Yes, sir. I’m ready.”

“Good fucking boy. Here it is, darling, here it fucking comes.” With one more flick of his wrist, he sends the first shot across the bridge of Mitaka’s nose. The second goes a bit wide, leaving a dazzling streak in his hair. “Oh, hell, Mitaka,” he marvels, dizzy from the sort of climax that hits a man in his core. “You look so good covered in my come.” Three more spurts: his chin, his right eyelid and lashes, and a generous portion on his beautiful reddened lips that slowly drips into his open mouth. Opan’s toes have gone numb and there’s a satisfying ache from his balls. He hasn’t come this hard in ages.

The boy trails a finger over his soiled lips and stares at the mess.

Reaching down, he pets Mitaka’s head. “Quite satisfactory.”

Mitaka is still gazing at his dripping hand, breathing heavily, when Opan drops the junior officer’s cap and gloves in his lap.

“You are dismissed, Ensign.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] A Simple Negotiation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24326770) by [Orson_Bennett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orson_Bennett/pseuds/Orson_Bennett)




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